


it's all futile, it's all pointless

by eleon



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Brotherly Love, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, One Shot, Phone Calls & Telephones, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot-centric, tommy: -exists-, wilbur: nothing matters, wilbur: well actually-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29307324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleon/pseuds/eleon
Summary: nothing might matter on this bitch of an earth, but tommyinnit sure does.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 37
Kudos: 467





	it's all futile, it's all pointless

**Author's Note:**

> title from wilbur soots its all futile! its all pointless! i came so close to using a lyric from lilypichus dreamy night or life goes on by bts but what kind of person would i be if i ignored this opportunity
> 
> tw/cws: nihilism ? (dunno but i go on a bit abt how nothing matters), mild anxiety, and cursing. idk how to warn this properly so if u think theres smth i should add pls tell me i think thats abt it though <3

do you ever think about the fact that everything is pointless? that, one day you'll die, and nothing you'll have done will matter? most people won't care that you passed, and the ones who do will one day pass themselves.

even if you're famous, like wilbur is, even if you've changed millions of people's lives—at some point they'll die, too. and the ones whose lives they've changed because you changed theirs—like the butterfly effect, you keeping up alright?—will one day die as well, until all you are is a tiny ripple that barely moves the river before fizzling out. 

everyone dies eventually, and so nothing you do ever matters.

it's 3 am, and wilbur is laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. it’s late at night and his mind can’t help but wander to thoughts that it can’t comprehend. he has no plans to sleep anytime soon.

he’s famous, but how famous? how long until he is forgotten, not a thought in anyone's head? he doesn't like the idea of people he doesn't know thinking about him when he isn't there, but he also doesn't like the idea of people never thinking about him at all. 

where's the middle ground? what's the answer? even mulling over this question has no point, because one day wilbur will be gone and these thoughts won't matter. he should live life to the fullest while he still has one, but, if you don't mind me repeating myself—it’s late at night and his mind can’t help but wander to thoughts it can’t comprehend. 

he blinks. he doesn't cry often but his vision has gone a bit blurry.

what is he doing? he needs to get up and take a walk. fresh air will do you good, wilbur, he thinks to himself, but much as he try he just. can't.

do you ever feel like that?

he doesn't see the point.

it's then his phone, never too far away, lights up, buzzing softly. someone is calling him, and he almost doesn't answer, but the name flashing on the screen is "gremlin child," and— 

fuck, nothing might matter on this bitch of an earth, but tommyinnit sure does.

"’EYY, WILBURRR!"

alright, maybe he matters a little less.

"hullo, tommyinnit," wilbur replies, and he already feels a bit lighter at tommy's laughter. good. tommy is 16; he doesn't need to deal with another person's problems, especially not a 24-year-old's who he looks up to. the thoughts will be gone by morning, anyway. "is something wrong? why are you calling me at this late hour of, uh, 4 am?"

"you know, wilbur soot, some people would say 4 am is early, so. ever think about that?"

wilbur sighs. rolls his eyes, and wipes them. sniffles, before he can think better of it. "alright, tommyinnit. why are you calling me at this early hour of 4 am?"

"okay, so funny story—you know it sounds like you've been crying, you alright, buddy?—i was watching one of—well, i wasn't _sad_ , i was just—i think the right term would be lonely, i dunno—but i was watching one of your old streams, and—i think i said philza was my comfort streamer once but honestly—and then i realized that the real thing was—that i could just _call_ you, you know? and i was like ‘wilbur’s an insomniac or something i’m sure he’s awake,’ and you _are_ and that’s a little concerning now that i think about it are you usually awake at this time—”

does tommy ramble more the later—the earlier—the hour? nothing might matter and everything might end eventually, but wilbur is not willing to sit and listen to tommy talk around his point for 5 minutes straight, and that matters, enough to say, “toms, please. can you repeat all that but in 10 words or less?”

tommy takes a deep breath. “fine. i. was. lonely,” he says slowly, and wilbur just _knows_ he's counting the words off on his fingers, “so. i. called. you. there. 7 words.”

“AWW—”

“shut the fuck up shut the fuck up i’m hanging up i’m hanging up i’m gonna block you you stupid bitch see if i ever call you again i hate you you’re so—”

wilbur laughs, feeling better than he has for—well, 8 hours isn’t long, but it’s a while to lay in bed and think about how nothing you will ever do will amount to anything.

“aww, it’s alright, tommy, i missed you, too.”

and it’s not a lie, even if it’s not particularly the truth. wilbur would always rather be around tommyinnit than not.

or, well, most of the time.

tommy splutters. shifts around on what sounds like his bed.

“i didn’t _miss_ you—i just, i dunno—wilbur, we’re a lot like brothers, you and i.”

it’s almost instinct to reply, “don’t say that, i’ll cry.” 

“why do you always _say_ that?”

wilbur doesn’t bother answering; he’s thirsty, has been for a while. there’s no point in getting up for water, but there’s also no point in staying in bed, and so he forces himself up, phone held in one hand as he switches it to speakerphone.

“you know, wilbur, i’ve just had a thought.”

wilbur hums in reply.

“ask me what the thought is, wilbur.”

“what is your thought, tommyinnit?” wilbur says, and if he doesn’t roll his eyes it’s only because he’s too busy getting a glass from the cupboard. he still does it in spirit, and tommy can’t see him, so it's to the same effect, anyway.

“well, i always thought that the reason you said”—here, he pitches his voice lower in a horrible rendition of wilbur—“‘don’t say that, i’ll cry’ is because—i don’t want to say it, it’d be embarrassing if i’m wrong, but it just occurred to me that you also could have—i’m sure it’s not what you mean, but, i dunno—”

pausing, tommy bites at his nails. wilbur wants to tell him to stop, it’s a bad habit, but he stays quiet, wanting and waiting to hear what tommy is going to say.

“do you say that because you don’t want to be my brother?”

everything might be pointless, but the thought of letting tommy continue thinking that there is the slightest possibility of that doesn't even cross wilbur's mind.

“tommy, _no_ —”

“no, no, listen, if it is you can tell me—and i know it’s probably not but i feel like you would lie to me about this so i just want you to know—it’s okay if that’s what it is, because i know i’m annoying and loud and it’s weird for a kid to be so clingy—and that makes me sound like i’m insecure and i’m _not_ , i just understand if you don’t—”

and despite all his words, his voice is small and his breathing a little too fast when he says, “i just understand if you don’t think of me that way. or if you think it’s weird that i—y'know.” then, like an afterthought, like he doesn’t want to be caught too vulnerable, he tacks on a, “bitch.”

tommy fucking innit, huh?

"it's nothing like that," wilbur says, then turns on the sink to fill his glass with water. he just… needs a few seconds to collect his thoughts. they're moving slower than usual this late (early) at night—buffering.

"now, see, that's what it would sound like if you were lying to me. if i were a teacher i would've failed you on the spot for that one."

rolling his eyes (actually, this time), wilbur sits down at the dining room table. said dining room is dimly lit, fuzzy-ish, like it hasn't had time to be rendered properly—and wilbur is suddenly aware of how very tired he is, how heavily his body is weighed down. 

he doesn't want to deal with this. he doesn't have the energy for this. but he cares for tommy, and that matters, enough to say, "tommyinnit, listen to me—and i mean _really_ listen, okay, because i'm so fucking tired and want to go to sleep. are you listening?"

tommy sighs. "yes, wilbur, i'm listening."

"i love you, tommy.”

he hears tommy’s quick intake of breath, and then a huff. “i love you, too? you know, i really don’t see—”

“oh, shut up, child. i love you, a real _fucking_ lot, okay, and i'm not ashamed to say you're probably my best friend. you are also an actual child, though, so—i don't think brothers would be the most inaccurate thing to call us. i never meant 'don't say that, i'll cry,' as a bad thing, tommy."

it's quiet for awhile after that. wilbur doesn't mind; his head is down and he's half-asleep, drifting off to the sound of his own exhaustion.

"i'm not a child... but pog, i guess," tommy says finally, then snorts out a laugh at himself. "i am so tired, too, i think i just realized that."

wilbur hums in reply.

then he just sits there. and miles away, tommy is sitting as well, on his bed. they're both tired, but just the tiniest bit lonely—the way you are when it is late at night, and your mind can't help but wander to thoughts it can't comprehend. neither of them are willing to give up the other's company. not at the moment.

so they sit there.

"goodnight, tommy," wilbur says, but only when it's much later, and the grey dawn light is creeping up on the window.

there's no response. for a moment, he thinks tommy must have fallen asleep—but there's a mumble and a shift from the other side, and then a small, "'night, wilby."

something about tommy makes him feel all soft, like he would do anything to protect the kid, even if he is a bit annoying at times. wilbur suppresses a smile, standing up and stretching. "i'm gonna go to bed, buddy, alright? you go to sleep, too. we can talk in the morning."

groaning, tommy moves a bit. "'kay."

wilbur heads to his room, walking down the hall.

"hey, were you upset earlier?" tommy asks, on the edge of a yawn. wilbur doesn't know why he's waited until now to ask, but it can probably be put down to it being a sleepless night and wanting a sense of closure. "it sounded like it."

he's really very much too tired for this.

"yeah, i was."

"what about?"

"just… thoughts. nothing you need to worry about. i'm fine now."

everything may be pointless, but that's a stupid outlook to have on the world. wilbur cares for tommyinnit, and tommyinnit cares for him back, and that matters. that's enough.

"okay. i love you."

"love you, too."

he hangs up, and they both get some fucking sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> deserved
> 
> this has been sitting nearly finished in my drafts for weeks now so i wanted to finish this to focus on other things. dunno if u can tell but i kinda gave up there at the end, not sure how good this is but i bet a lot of ppl will like it regardless so i dont fucking care
> 
> also. random thought. but its 1am and i just woke up so i think i can be excused. neway one day i am going to write queerplatonic dnf i already have plans for qp skephalo but i think dnf deserves that too thats all thank u for ur time
> 
> how we feeling lgbtq community leave a kudos or possibly even a comment if ur feeling extra uhhh zesty what a fun word. if not thats alright i hope u enjoyed <3


End file.
